


Pictures and Smiles

by StrangledAvatar



Series: Pictures and Trinkets, Colours and Stories [3]
Category: Hollyoaks
Genre: Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-11
Packaged: 2020-06-26 06:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19762354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrangledAvatar/pseuds/StrangledAvatar
Summary: HappyJarryHolidsays: Week 3 (Sunlight)On a sunny day, James' smile returns.





	Pictures and Smiles

**Author's Note:**

> So HO massacred my plot bunnies...as in took a chainsaw. My muse didn't fare so well either.
> 
> I really tried with this chapter. I apologize if it is lacking.
> 
> I was going to continue the story for the upcoming weeks...but I don't know. What's going on in the show right now, is unfathomable and disheartening to say the least.

“Okay.”

Watching the man’s mouth form that word, Harry found it strange that he couldn’t hear the sound. The only thing he could hear was the soft crying from the floor…not even the gunshot drowned James out (He thinks he’ll always hear him). The whole room was silent except for those small murmurs and hiccupped cries. It was almost peaceful. The anger and hatred had dissipated and all that was left was calm and quiet tears.

Being shot was nothing like the films portrayed. Harry didn’t fly backwards, hit the hall, and slide down dramatically, leaving a stain on the wall. He didn’t pitch forward, groaning in agony. He barely even flinched. At first, he wasn’t sure he’d been shot.

It was so quiet.

Maybe this was a dream—a nightmare from which James would comfort him. He’d done that before. More times than Harry could count. Images of Amy falling and Harry running. Of Ryan falling and Harry running. Tony screaming, Diana crying, Ste bleeding…and Harry running. He’d see himself run away every time, unable to change it. The theme of his cowardice was a recurring visitor that rarely failed to make an appearance. It certainly never failed to make an impression. Silent tears would soak the pillows…such a difference from his normal ugly crying (James would just snort and idly state that he was always beautiful). He’d turn in on himself and wait for the loathing to stop. Wait for the sick and dirty feeling to slowly recede. Sometimes, if Harry were feeling brave enough, he’d curl into James (this happened more often than before…James always did make him feel brave). The middle of his back was perfect to rest his face, or his left shoulder. Harry would tuck his face into James’ neck and breathe. Or maybe James would wake him up, holding him tightly in his arms, and whisper love into his sweat-soaked hair. James would run his hands up and down his back and promise Harry that he even if he ran, James would always be there when he stopped. His James providing shelter and comfort. Love.

This was no dream.

Harry wasn’t running.

And James couldn’t help him.

The pain started slowly, like the rumbling thunder from a storm far away. It built, a lightning bolt appearing and disappearing along his nerves. Harry slowly looked down at himself.

Whispering, “Oh.”

Then the pain hit. _Oh God, it hurts._ He brought his hand up to press against the wound, trying to shove the pain back down. Gasping, Harry shakily opened his mouth, but no words would come. He could barely breathe—only gasp.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a face. Turning his head took effort. It was a picture of James and Harry in Vienna. Harry had wanted a selfie, but James primly asked a couple to take their picture. In his usual uppity (Harry would have him no other way), he declared that the Belvedere Palace deserved a proper photo. Harry didn’t remember the art or the Gardens—he only remember James. James had been so excited to share his knowledge; Harry just listened to his voice and bathed in his passion. When the time for the photo came around, Harry couldn’t tear his eyes away from James and his smile…he still couldn’t.

Harry focused on that smile again, even as he felt his legs give way. The joyous look on James’ face, a comfort, as Harry slowly sank to the ground. The pain was worse, but he kept looking at the picture. It was harder to breathe, rasping sounds all Harry could produce. Still he looked at the picture.

Sounds started filtering through the pain. Smug sounds from the man, still so ordinary. And broken notes from James. Harry tried to speak. All he could do was moan.

Then it was quiet again.

He vaguely heard James cry out.

Suddenly the pain intensified, and Harry tried to curl into himself. He couldn’t help but groan. His vision went white and he could no longer see the picture…all he could do was try to breathe. All he wanted to do was scream. All he could do was rasp.

The pain slowly started to recede…it just started to go away. Everything started to feel a little heavier, the sounds were quieter. Harry started to feel colder. His breathing was easier, if slower. The whiteness turned back into colour and James’ smile appeared again. Harry tried to smile. He felt his eyes start to close. Harry fought to keep his eyes open. He wanted to see James’ face…he wanted to see that smile.

The voices started again.

It was harder to stay conscious. It was starting to get hard to breathe.

Harry just wanted one more moment. He wanted to hear James laugh and see the laugh lines that he’d helped form around his eyes. Wanted James to wrap his arms around him and mouth his praises into his skin. He wanted…he wanted to hear James say he loved him.

Harry opened his eyes as wide as he could—looked at the picture of pure happiness…he whispered (if only in his head), “You…were worth it…worth….everything.”

~~~

“Pleas…”

…..

_Beep_

…..

“Love…”

…..

_Whoosh_

…..

“Come bac…”

….

~~~

Quiet, the only sounds machines beeping and air rushing.

The pain was gone and Harry could breathe.

He could see light behind his eyelids. Shining light. He was afraid to open his eyes—afraid of what he’d see or not see…afraid that he’d be alone. All he wanted was to see James’ face. See his smile.

Blinking his eyes open slowly, he quickly closed them. The light was so bright. It burned. Harry moved his head slowly away from it.

“Harry?”

That voice sounded like James.

“Harry? Are you..can yo—please, Harry. I love you.”

A familiar touch cradled his face. He could feel the fingers brushing his cheek. Harry tried to open his eyes again, but it was so bright. He made a sound in the back of his throat—turned his head more toward the warm hands.

“Please, please open your eyes.” The voice sounded sad—James sounded sad. Memories of soft cries and broken noises made Harry’s skin burn. He turned more towards the voice.

“ja…mz”

“I’m here Harry. I’ve got you.” Harry could hear the tears in his voice.

He tried again, “James.”

A wet laugh, “Yes. Harry…Harry. Open your eyes.”

Harry finally managed to slit his eyes open. He saw a figure in front of him. He tried to reach out his hand.

“Don’t try to move yet, Harry. It’s okay.” James’ voice was quieter. His touch never left Harry’s face. Dry lips pressed against his cheek. “I’m here.”

Harry managed to open his eyes. The light (from a blind left rudely open) was shining brightly. James’ face was perfect in repose. The light blending with the ginger and white in his beard, with salt in his hair—giving him a glow. James smiled when he saw Harry’s eyes open.

Leaning forward to push their foreheads together, James whispered “Welcome back.”


End file.
